ff for
Thanksgiving. I think it is real mean of your manager to treat you
like that. I don't think the bank is fair with its clerks at all.

"Now, there's a young fellow here (an awfully clever and nice chap) who
counted on getting down to the city, but he was out in his books, so
the manager couldn't let him off. His name is Reade: we are going to
have him up to the house for tea. Father likes him, and so do all of
us.

"I'm going to a dance to-night; that is why I am sending this letter
away in such a hurry. You don't deserve a very long one, though, do
you? Hoping you spend a decent Thanksgiving, and wishing you success.

Yours sincerely,
"FRANK."

"Success be darned!" mumbled Evan. The smile with which he had begun
the letter had died down to an emaciated grin and finally evaporated
between compressed lips. "I hope Reade enjoys himself!"

He went to the telephone and rang up two longs and three shorts--the
post-office. Had he reread Frankie's letter and sat down to analyze it
and to think, he probably would not have telephoned; but when a fellow
has lost a summer's savings and a Thanksgiving dinner all at once, it
is, perhaps, natural that he should feel uncertain even of his
sweet-heart, and act accordingly.

"Hello," said Evan; "is that you, Lily?"

"Yes, this is me!"

"How would you like to go for a drive? You would? All right, I'll
call for you after supper."

Evan rented a livery, and Lily's folk raising no objection, the young
girl went out to advertise the fact that she had a banker beau. All
the town wondered.

It is easy to condemn Evan for his flirtations with Julia Watersea and
Lily Allen. If he had stayed at school, matters would have been
different. When the mind is wading through study it turns readily to
pleasure, but does not dwell upon it. In the simple routine of the
bank, in spite of the books he read, Evan found his mind drifting to
excitement of some sort continually. When he brought it up, there was
nothing for it to settle upon. When he left Mt. Alban he was being
gradually drawn into what was called the "social life"--a life that
would make him an ideal bankclerk, but nothing bigger. Now, after a
few months of ease, he found himself craving the whirl again; and he
must seize any small pleasure at hand.

So he seized Lily Allen around the waist and acted sentimentally.

"You mustn't," she murmured, making no effort to release herself.

"I must," said he.